New place

There’s a shawarma place in my new neighbourhood that I had never actually seen open before. It’s an odd little building all by itself, as if someone had rescued it from Urban Improvement Arthur Dent-style. There was a sign on the front window saying that the hours were “until we run out of chicken,” so I went by on my work-from-home lunch hour today. The inside is a HAMILTON TICATS SHRINE. I had not, though a stroke of luck, worn my Roughriders hat.

Rabbits resting up for the big move.

One odd task about moving apartment is hauling The Notebooks around. I don’t keep paper notebooks any more, but I did intermittently until last year. It seems crazy to be keeping all this stuff, and even crazier to consider producing more of it– a jumble of personal diary-keeping, scrapbooking, fiction, and schoolwork– but when I haul the box out, I do look though the notebooks, and I do value what’s in there. And my notebooks from high school, when I started keeping them, have survived much more reliably than any digital artifacts. I lost almost all my photos of Monica (though I’ve recovered some of the events I remember there being photos of through friends), but I still have notes in her handwriting in my books.